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Published: January 31st 2007
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Or more appropriately, "How Chengdu Robbed My Tastebuds." But before I get to that, a quick run down of the rest of my day.
I woke up early around 6:45 to catch a tour to the nearby Giant Panda Research Center. Man, those guys are cute! We left early in order to catch them during their feeding time, when they are most likely to be awake and not curled up under some tree. We first caught a glimpse of the larger Giant pandas before heading to the baby panda facility. Here, the worker/scientist brought out 7 babies just to pose for the gawking tourists (myself included). She propped them up on chairs and teeter-totters, and the Chinese tourists squealed with joy. I tried to contain myself by squealing on the inside...
The baby pandas were followed up by the panda foxes, or red pandas. Adorable of course, the little guys just darted around their grounds, stopping every once in a while to strike a pose for our cameras. While I was thoroughly content with what I had seen and ready to head back into Chengdu, the guides had one last surprise for us. Warning: Content Unsuitable for Minors to
Come Closa
Pandas Telling Secrets in the Playground Follow. We were huddled into a small film room. As the lights dimmed and the screen began to glow, I knew we were in for something special... A 20-minute video on the intricacies of Artificial Panda Insemination. Oh yes, not just any video, perhaps the most graphic and gut-wrenching video I've ever seen. Trust me, if you ever get to Chengdu for the pandas, just skip this part.
Run by the hostel, the tour group was a young Belgian dude, a Canadian girl now teaching in Shanghai, and two couples from who knows where. The Belgian kid and I swapped some travel ideas, and I may be headed further south per his recommendations.
The afternoon was spent with a visit to nearby Wenshu Temple, accompanied by Barney's pal Ye Ho Chen and some of her classmates. We just walked around the temple and the nearby market street, during which they explained alot about different Chinese religious practices (it was a Buddhist temple) and Chengdu-specific traditions. Her father also offered to help me out with some travel plans, and I will most likely take him up on the offer. Overall, it was a great time, and I will probably
meet up with the family before my departure.
Now for the Interesting Part
I arrived back at my hostel around 6pm, desperately in need of some nourishment. I decided to catch a cab to a nearby shopping district, knowing that I could find something to dine on. As the fates would have it, no such luck, and I resigned myself to defeat, heading back to the hostel area. Now 9pm, I was desperate. Collapsing from starvation, I roamed aimlessly around the neighborhood. And there it was, my salvation. A Sichuan Hot Pot restaurant!
A brief introduction to Hot Pot. Hot Pot dining consists of ordering several small dishes, whether it be meat, tofu, or veggies, all accompanied by a giant bowl of water set over an open flame directly on your table. You place each piece of food into the boiling water, give it a few minutes to cook, and then enjoy. Think fondue with water and chopsticks.
Immediately upon entering, every waiter and waitress stopped. A lone diner, already rare at hot pot as it is meant for a group, was already intriguing enough. A lone foreigner diner, now that was something. When I sat
down, the host, not knowing I knew any Chinese, began acting out the different options. How do you act out cabbage? Yeah, he's got talent. After he realized I could understand, he promptly asked me the only question of importance in Sichuan:
La bu La?
Hot or not? Being a lover of Sichuan spice (the only real reason I came to Chengdu), of course I ordered hot. The man beamed with joy. Running of with gleaming eyes and a deep grin directed at every waitress in the house, his excitement had me worried. And for good reason.
I had just ordered Mala Hot Pot. Now hot pot in all other parts of China, and Los Angeles for that matter, has two options. Normal boiling water, devoid of flavor, or a slightly spicier version in which a little pepper is dropped in. In Sichuan, not the case. Picture this: a giant metal bowl, filled with giant red peppers, hua jiao (a mouth-numbing peppercorn, special to Sichuan food), chili oil, and flaming hot water. Basically, a giant bowl of red.
When brought to the table, the entire restaurant of 30 or so staff members stared on, giggling amongst themselves, waiting to see what the foreigner did next. And what did I do? I ate!
To there utter astonishment, I enjoyed every bit of it, not even breaking a sweat. While I won't lie, it was the hottest thing I have ever eaten, I choked down what I could until my tongue was so thoroughly shot, no spice from then on could do any more damage. It was all made much worse by the fact that I had only ordered hot tea, not the regular beer, to accompany my meal.
Towards the end of the feast, a waitress came up to serve more tea. I took the opportunity to ask how to say "hua jiao," the little peppercorn thing. She on the other hand took the opportunity to ask if I thought the dish was spicy. Dangran! Of course! She then simply said I was "hen lihai," or formidable, a common compliment around here. Apparently, a small bowl of oil they had given me early on was meant to be used as a rinsing bowl to take off some of the peppers and spice. She said that everybody in the restaurant was amazed because I hadn't used it once. Not even the Sichuan people eat Mala hot pot without it. Little did she know, I simply didn't know what it was.
I capped off the meal with a vase of orange juice. Yes, a vase of OJ. Fresh-squeezed, I watched them do it. A victory juice if you will. And that is how I became a Sichuan Legend. Not for my mind, my strength, or my utter lack of self-restraint. But because of my spicy New Mexican heritage. Thank you red chile enchiladas for bridging the US-China gap.
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